


Oblivion Is Calling Out Your Name

by keep_me_alone



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Arkham Asylum, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bruce is trying but not succeeding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guess what Jason has bpd, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is being not great, Just mentioned really, No proof reading we die like mne, Ps. Sorry for all the tiny pop culture references i cant fuckin help it, Slight CSA mention, Splitting, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-05 11:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_me_alone/pseuds/keep_me_alone
Summary: Jason has been angry and emotional for a long time. He gets older, sometimes he grows, and his relationship with his life and his desire to end it changes.





	1. Before the Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jerseydevious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerseydevious/gifts).



> Read tags for triggers.  
> For Jerseydevious who got me w all their really excellently depressing fics

The first time Jason came close to killing himself, he was perched on top of the Manor like a gargoyle. He hadn't known Bruce long at all, and really he was still in the stages of hiding food, stocking up a go bag for when this wealthy man made an inappropriate advance on him. Stranger things had happened.

He didn't really know why he was thinking about it, but from up here the ground just looked so inviting. He wouldn't even have to step forwards, just tip a little too far. Jason leaned forward, examining the darkness of the lawn below him. He felt his centre of gravity shift and yanked backwards, falling against the ceiling tiles. He was panicked, heart pounding wildly in his chest. Jason couldn't quite bring himself to fully stand on the roof, instead shuffling over to the window he'd crawled out of, bent over, one had always on the tiles. He very carefully slipped back through the skylight, sliding the screen back in place and closing it tightly.

It was past midnight and he crept silently back to his room. The Manor was drafty and old and creaked like anything, but he knew that by now. He didn't make a sound. Jason put himself to bed, still wearing all his clothes. He pulled the thick blankets up around his chin and stared at the ceiling. He didn't understand. He was shaking and felt like crying, though he'd never actually let himself.  He just didn't know why.

Jason stayed like that a long time, until the anxiety sapped the strength from his bones and he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

For a long time after that, Jason was ok, or at least something close. His training took up most of his time and energy and although he had to abide by Batman's rules, he was generally alright. And then somewhere that had changed. He realized that Bruce didn't trust him and the man who had been training him all this time, had no faith. He was angry, and his rage was uncontrollable, bursting out of him at disastrous times. He couldn't help it. He was young, didn't understand where this emotion was coming from, had no way to control it.

And then the unthinkable happened. Batman accused him of murder. Their bond was all but shattered by that point. Jason desperately wanted Bruce to believe him, that he hadn't killed Garzonasa, but Bruce had already made up his mind. And again, Jason was angry. Furious. Some tiny, disgusting part of him wished that he had done it, but he hadn't. He'd gone to arrest the man, they'd fought, and he'd fallen, and as he had tipped over the balcony, Jason had grabbed for him, his fingers just brushing the other man's before he plunged to his death.

It was late at night again. Jason hadn't snuck anywhere this time. He'd fought with Bruce and gone. Jason had stalked Gotham for hours, hoping to vent some of the acid simmering in him. It hadn't worked. He was on the roof now, stories above Gotham, the cold wind whistling around him.

Jason paced on the lip of the roof, the slight ledge that was supposed to separate him from a two hundred foot fall. He was thinking about it again, suicide. Jason was almost literally blinded by rage, and it felt like if he didn't let it out, he'd throw himself off the roof just to ease this crushing pressure.

He screamed into the night. Screamed until his throat was raw, and the pain it took to raise his voice was more pressing than the release it offered him. The terrible constricting feeling around his chest remained. It was unbearable.

Bruce deserved it. Deserved to be crushed by his death, because it was his fault. He was supposed to be in Jason's corner, but he was just like everyone else. His thoughts were mounting to a desperate crescendo. It would serve Bruce right. Jason knew he wasn't going to live up to Dick's legacy any time. Bruce had picked a dud and now his misguided sympathy had hit its end. So what the fuck was the point anymore? Go home just so Bruce could kick him out? And Jason realized bitterly, that he had found a home only as he had lost it. He had nowhere to go.

Instead of leaping off the roof, as he had envisioned, Jason merely stepped off. It was almost nice at first. The thrilling rush of wind screaming past his ears. The weightlessness. And then his arm had clipped something hard and metal, and Jason had instinctively grabbed at it through the numbing pain. His hand slipped off, but a storey down, he hit something else. The fire escape, he realised dimly. He fell another floor, automatically grabbing the metal and swinging himself onto the platform.

The man, who was no longer quite the same Jason, stood on the balcony for a long moment without moving. There was a fire door. He opened it. Took the steps down one at a time.

It would be inaccurate to say that Jason was numb. He felt everything very keenly. His heart still beating under his shirt, the throb from where he'd torn the skin on his arms and face, the cars rushing past him on the dark roads. But he was one step removed from all of it. Because he had no energy for thinking now, only the walk home, Jason knew but couldn't articulate the fact that something had changed. And something had. He'd lost something vital, and soon enough, he'd forget that he'd ever had it in the first place


	2. Never Come Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tries to work things out with Jason.  
> I know y'all wanted this to go well... but it just... really doesn't

Jason had been hiding out in the Manor for days. He'd been patrolling with almost his usual enthusiasm, but not much else. The only thing that seemed to give him any satisfaction these days was killing bastards who deserved it, not his hollow, snarky remarks to Tim and Damian, not Alfred's cooking, not even stealing Bruce's cars, just ending men who reminded him of the ones who had put him in this position.

He wasn't healthy. His body, he treated like a temple, or more acurrately like one of his weapons. He ate enough to fulfil his needs. He didn't miss his training sessions. He kept his body honed as sharp as a knife, and that was deliberate.

Jason's brain was sick though. He was pretty sure everyone knew, after all he was a walking disaster. The Lazarus pit had made things a lot worse for a while. They were mostly better now, a comfortable kind of numbness that he tried not to think about too much. But sometimes he still did. And sometimes the numbness would turn into that same aching pressure, a violent flurry of anger at himself.

He was mostly ok. But this was the kind of illness you just didn't get better from.

Currently, Jason was tying nooses in his manor room. The same room he'd had as a kid. He didn't intend to use them, but it made him feel a bit better knowing that he could. He'd probably have to find somewhere to do it, but the manor had plenty of heavy banisters. He wasn't going to do it, though. But he could.

There was hardly a day when Jason wasn't at least casually thinking about killing himself. Anytime a car went past him in the city going over fifty, he felt like jumping in front of it. He walked a little too close to tall ledges, that first real attempt always in the back of his mind.

For the most part though, he only thought. He'd tried to kill himself a few times since coming back. More than a few if he was being really honest. Sometimes he would drink so much he thought he'd die. Hoped so, anyways. He never did, just woke up the next day vaguely disappointed and disgusted with himself, both for trying and not succeeding. Once or twice when taking painkillers for wounds he'd recieved in stupid battles, he'd taken almost enough to kill himself. Enough that he knew it was dangerous, but not enough for a sure thing. It was a fine line he walked, and he'd been doing it for a long time, and that didn't even take into account the situations he'd thrown himself into, careless and guns blazing. Jason was good at killing though, to his mind it was almost an unfortunate gift. He'd have to try fairly hard to get himself killed in a fight, and he wasn't interested in trying hard.

Then, when Jason was finishing off his fifth noose, there was really no shortage of rope here, the door opened and in walked Bruce with no warning. Well fuck.

"Hey boss," Jason said casually, yanking the knot tight. "What's up?" Bruce didn't say anything for a long minute, his hard eyes taking in the mess. He'd only come to tell Jason to come down for dinner, try and goad him out of his room, but this...

"I could ask you the same," he said evenly. Jason shrugged, looked down at the rope in his hands.

"Just trying to decide where to hang myself." He glanced up, smirking. His emotions were doing things in his chest that he couldn't quite make out. It felt like a storm was rolling in.

"That's not funny," said Bruce. His voice was clipped almost in the manner of Batman. Jason shrugged, tossed the noose on the pile and rolled his shoulders to shake out the tension.

"Well that's fine because I wasn't really joking." His tone was sharp.

"We need to talk," Bruce said. He dragged over the desk chair and sat facing Jason. He was leaning forwards, elbows on his knees and Bruce realized that he hadn't looked at his son recently. His eyes were bloodshot and deeply shadowed. He'd been eating enough, but less, and it was evident when you looked for it. Jason's hair was lank and greasy like he hadn't showered in several days.

"Are you gonna talk, or just stare at me?" Jason asked irritably.

"You're unwell."

"And you really are the world's greatest detective." Jason shot back sarcastically.

"Jason, I'm trying to help," Bruce's habitual frown deepened.

"I didn't ask for it." Jason toyed with a stray bit of rope, picking apart the strands.

"But you need it." Bruce said flatly. "I want you to see someone."

"Like who?" Jason laughed incredulously. "That'd be fun. Hi doc, my adoptive dad's been endangering me since I was a little kid, and then I died for a bit. He didn't care too much, replaced me pretty quick, but then I came back and now for some reason I just wanna die like all the time." Bruce leaned back in his chair, raising both eyebrows.

"Stop trying to bait me. You and I both know that isn't true."

"Do we Bruce?" Bruce sighed.

"You're going to hit a wall, if you haven't already." Bruce informed him. His voice softened, "I need you to trust me, Jay." And that was just too much.

"Why should I?" Jason demanded. "You have _never_  trusted me. Not when I was Robin and sure as hell not when I came back." He jumped to his feet. "So now you care all of a sudden when it looks like the kid might off himself and give you some bad publicity?"

"Jason-," Bruce tried to cut in. Now his emotions were rising. His cheeks flushed.

"No. No!" Jason yelled over him. "Just fucking listen to me for once Bruce. Jesus fucking Christ." And goddamn he was angry again and it was chasing out every other feeling he might've had. "Stop trying to tell me what to do. God. You lost that right a long fucking time ago. Just leave me alone!" It killed him a little to be saying that to Bruce. The man who was supposed to be his hero. A lifetime ago, he would've killed to have this conversation. But that was before. It was too late now. Bruce stood and Jason froze. A younger version of himself would've flinched. This version though, was all defiance and tilted chin.

"Are you done?" Bruce asked in his low voice.

"You know what? No." The fury was still there, but he wasn't yelling now. "I don't know why I came here anymore. I guess I missed you or something. But you know what? I am on _fire_  right now." He took a ragged breath, glaring up at Bruce "and you're the asshole who lit the match."

Jason stalked out of the room. He left the door open behind him. A few moments later Bruce heard him shout from the front door back to the kitchen.  
"Sorry for wasting dinner Alfie." Just before the front door slammed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be talking to Dick, that should go a bit better <3


	3. I'm With You

  
Jason  was sitting on a bridge, his legs dangling over the safety rail as he glared into the water. It was raining, drops tapping sharply against his head and neck, making the metal girder he perched on slick and dangerous.

If he fell now it wouldn't even be a suicide, just an accident. Jason lit a cigarette. It was a little challenging, but he managed. He took a long drag, tipping his head back to stare into the sky. It was clouded by light. Inscrutable.

Footsteps in the rain.

"It's a damn cold night," Dick said companionably, coming up to lean on the rail beside Jason. Jason nodded, continuing to smoke without looking. "Why don't you come down from there so we can talk."

"If you came to talk to me about Bruce, save your breath."

"He didn't ask me to come here."

"Ah, but he does know."

"Yeah," Dick admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. He was beginning to think Bruce had been telling the truth earlier, when Dick had loudly laid into him before running off to find Jason. Maybe Bruce hadn't actually started anything.  "Please get down, Jay." Jason turned to climb off the rail, but he was wearing civilian shoes, not his usual combat boots, and they slipped on the slick metal. Jason shouted as he fell back, his eyes huge in his drawn face. Dick shouted too, leaping forward to grab the front of Jason's jacket. He yanked Jason back over the steel railing, and Jason stumbled forward, falling into Dick's crushing embrace.

"Fuck," Dick whispered, his cheek pressed to Jason's wet hair. One of his hands pressed Jason's face into his shoulder, the other wrapped securely around Jason's waist, like Dick was afraid he still might fall. "I gotcha." Dick mumbled, fingers slipping through Jason's hair.

Jason held Dick loosely in comparison, more letting himself be hugged as he sagged against the taller man. He was overwhelmed by an emotion he could not name or contain as it swept over him. Without really realizing it, he was crying, tears streaming soundlessly down his face.

"Hey buddy, it's ok. I have you."  Jason felt deeply wrong, completely detached from himself and the situation. The emotion had shaken his consciousness loose. Dick was there though, and despite his abundance of lean, corded muscle, gave surprisingly soft hugs. "I have you," Dick repeated. He let Jason take a step back, keeping his hands on Jason's shoulders.

"I'm gonna take you back to your safe house," he said careful not to imply he was taking Jason to the manor. "We need to get you warm." Dick pushed the wet hair out of Jason's face. His skin was damp and clammy.  "Yeah," he put a hand on Jason's back, guiding him down the street. Jason walked slowly, and God, if the glazed look on his face wasn't terrifying, but he was walking.

Thankfully, Jason's safe house wasn't too far. Jason managed to get himself upstairs, and dressed himself in warm, dry clothes. Dick was relieved. Jason hadn't really said anything since Dick had pulled him off the bridge, and he wasn't sure how bad Jason was right now.

"There ya go, buddy." Dick said, draping a blanket around Jason when he half fell onto the couch.

"Thanks," Jason mumbled stiffly. "You can go now." He was looking stubbornly at the floor.

"I don't think so," Dick replied cheerfully. "I already made tea." He brought over two mugs, plunking one on the coffee table in front of Jason, and cradling the other in both hands. Jason glowered at Dick, but in his pajamas and covered by a fluffy blanket, most of the effect was lost.

"I don't wanna talk about it, Dick." Jason said, scowling. He seemed to be coming back a bit, so Dick decided to take that as a a good sign. Dick just sat on the couch and looked at him with big,  innocent eyes. "Fuck off Dickhead that doesn't work on me." But it was a lie and they both knew it. Jason sighed, pulling the blanket over his head. "I'm just fucking tired." He mumbled, allowing himself to fall over sideways. Dick scooted over to pull Jason's head into his lap.

"Talk to me about it, Jaybird."

"Stop being so nice to me," muttered Jason, muffled by the blanket. "I don't deserve it."

"You're wrong," Dick replied blithely.

"Oh yeah?" Jason mumbled back, "then how come I'm such a dick to Bruce and the rest of the family?" Dick sighed, briefly blowing a piece of hair up off his face.

"Because you have a complicated history with them." Dick said placatingly. "That doesn't make you bad." Jason pulled the blanket off of his face to give Dick a Look, and replaced it as he replied.

"Pretty sure it does."

"Does not."

"Can't you just sedate me and leave like a normal person?" Jason demanded, sitting up. Dick raised his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide.

"Has Bruce done that?" He asked, trying not to sound as horrified as he felt.

"Yup," Jason replied bitterly. "You know he like wants me in Arkham, right?"

"You don't believe that."

"Don't be naive." Jason's smile was the edge of a razor. "He wants me committed. He's made that pretty clear. And we all know a normal hospital can't help me. I kill people for a living, how the fuck are they gonna keep me where I don't wanna be?" He shifted further away from Dick on the couch. "Hell, I don't know why he won't just let me kill myself already. It'd sure solve a lot of his problems."

"Jason..." Dick didn't know what he wanted to say. For his part, Jason had felt the nameless feeling recede, replaced by a numbness that was swiftly turning into the beginning embers of anger in his stomach.

"If he really wanted to help, he could fix up Arkham, make it more of a functioning hospital and less of a hell pit. He has what millions, billions of dollars?" Jason stood, started pacing. It was hard to sit still when so much was going on inside him.

"He's trying-," Dick started, but Jason only talked over him.

"I was in there a bit before I came back you know." He glanced over sharply "I'm not surprised half the criminals in Gotham are out of their fucking minds. I'm surprised I'm not worse myself. Anyways, if Brucie boy didn't want to spend a bunch of money, which I get, I know how people with money are, he also could've just fucking asked me." Jason paused to breathe a moment. He could feel fine tremors building under his skin. He snapped, "get out of my house," his glare intense and direct. The gaze Dick returned was calm, emotionless.

"I'm not here to defend Bruce," he said quietly, "I'm here because I just pulled you off a ledge, and I'm worried about you." Jason's look softened somewhat as he relaxed just a fraction. He still looked tense, but not like he was about to throw himself into a fight. Jason sucked in a breath, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to contain himself. It wasn't working well. The room spun around him.

"I-," he put a hand to his face, willing things to become solid and real around him again.

"Jason?" Dick asked, quickly standing to move next to him. "What is it?" He moved to touch Jason's shoulder, only to have his hand batted away.

"Fuck off," he mumbled without heat, "I'm fine." Things steadied somewhat and Jason dropped back onto the couch feeling drained. He felt like two people: one extraordinarily tired man, and one with a seething mess of emotions roiling beneath his skin, but he couldn't quite bring the two together.

"Jason," Dick said softly. He sat on the other end of the couch, mindful not to crowd Jason who had seemed to collapse in on himself again, like a star burning itself out a thousand years away. "I'm here. I'm not leaving tonight. I'll sleep on the couch. I won't even talk if you don't want me to," he half smiled, but it was a sad thing, "I know I'm a little much for you sometimes, but I also won't leave you alone when you're like this. You're sick, ok? It's not your fault, but you're not doing well right now." And in that, even Jason could plainly hear the worry and care, now matter how strange it was, or how unconventional their bond.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. And he was. For yelling, for taking it out on Dick, blaming him for Bruce, for making him worry, for existing in a way that made him Like This. He was sorry.

"It's ok," Dick said softly, "I know."  
And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I triiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiied to make this chapter a little softer and maybe more hopeful. I have no idea if it came out that way because I'm also trying to be realistic and these thing don't have easy answers. However given what Jason is going through, I think this is the best ending that could reasonably expected
> 
> Merry Christmas lmao


End file.
